


Selective

by bigblueboxat221b



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teachers, Anathema's cool with Divine Beings, Comforting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Don't copy to another site, Fallen Angel Crowley (Good Omens), Fallen Angels, M/M, Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-09-27 04:17:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20401540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigblueboxat221b/pseuds/bigblueboxat221b
Summary: Aziraphale's just starting out as a teacher of Linguistics. It's not his preferred occupation on Earth, but beggars can't be choosers. He's lucky to have a place at Aspley Grammar, but there's something odd about a teacher named Crowley. He seems to know more about Aziraphale than a human strictly should, and when things change, he may be the only one Aziraphale can turn to.





	1. Chapter 1

“Mister Prince,” the Assistant Principal greeted him, smiling and extending her hand. “Welcome to Aspley Grammar.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale replied, shaking her hand. “Please, call me Aziraphale.”

“It’s a very unusual name,” Delilah told him as they walked towards the English Language hub.

“It’s been in my family for centuries,” Aziraphale replied truthfully.

“As a Professor of Linguistics I assume you know its meaning?”

“Keeper of the Gate,” he replied. It was close enough, and humans never seemed to dig any deeper than necessary.

“Excellent,” she replied in a tone that made it clear she hadn’t really taken notice of his reply. “Well, here’s your desk. The Head of Languages will be around somewhere, he’ll walk you through your timetable, where you can find resources and the like.” She smiled at him again. “Good to have you here. If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Before he could open his mouth, the woman was gone. So much for that offer, he thought.

The office was smaller than he’d imagined and probably only designed for one staff member rather than the four battered desks he saw crammed into the space. Aziraphale dropped his bag on the chair and took the few minutes to take out his personal belongings - a mug, some books, the fountain pen he favoured. A small box of his favourite marzipan was tucked into the top drawer, beside his reading glasses.

Turning around in the silent space, he sighed. It was nothing compared to his beloved bookshop, but this would have to do. Perhaps if he walked around, began to learn his way to the classrooms, it would feel less alien?

“Oh, hi,” a young woman said, stumbling a little as she came into the office. Her arms were loaded with books and assorted equipment; Aziraphale hurried to help her unload it onto her already crowded desk.

“You must be new. Anathema Device,” she introduced herself, stopping a heavy book falling to the floor.

“Aziraphale Prince,” he replied automatically.

A wide smile broke across her face. “Finally, someone with as unusual name as I,” she said. “Can I assume you’re Languages?”

“Indeed,” he replied. “Linguistics and Ancient Languages, to be strictly accurate.”

“Fantastic, we can gossip in Latin and nobody will know,” she said.

He returned her smile. She seemed nice enough, confident and easy with people.

“I was just going to roam the halls, try and get my bearings,” he told her.

“Oh, great idea,” Anathema replied. “I’ll be in the main staff room later if you fancy a coffee.”

“_Deorum nectare_,” he said, and she laughed. Hardly worth of such mirth, but at least he was trying, he told himself. He’d start with the corridor from earlier before venturing further afield.

Pleased at his decided course of action, the newest staff member of Aspley Grammar straightened his bow tie and strode out of the office. Turning back the way he’d come, he stopped periodically, peering into each classroom as he made his way along the corridor. The rooms looked like every representation of a private elite school he’d ever seen – spacious and understated but clearly expensive. An interesting juxtaposition to the staff office, he thought. All that remained was students to fill the seats.

It wasn’t the same, his brain told him. Not the same as his dream: a lovely bookshop, his own little corner where he was in charge and largely left alone. But beggars couldn’t be choosers – and neither could…angels in his position. At least this way he’d be surrounded by books, he reminded himself. Knowledge and the pursuit of it; with any luck, students that actually showed some interest in the subjects he was engaged to teach.

“You have absolutely got to be the new Linguistics teacher,” a voice came from behind Aziraphale, making him jump.

“I beg your pardon?” he asked, as appalled by the grammar as the smug tone of voice.

“Oh, and you’re wearing a bow tie. Double points if you have a tiny little pair of reading glasses tucked around somewhere.”

Aziraphale blinked, uncertain how to address the man standing before him. He had an almost smile on his face, closer to a smirk than anything, along with an attitude that screamed, ‘Arts teacher’. Denim trousers, a collarless shirt, a vest far too tight, the whole ensemble black. He was a walking cliché.

“Good afternoon,” he said, ignoring the breathtakingly rude personal comment. “My name is Aziraphale Prince.”

“Anthony Crowley,” came the reply, and he deigned to push off the wall and step closer to shake Aziraphale’s hand. “So am I right? You’re the new Linguistics teacher.”

“I am,” Aziraphale replied. Putting a polite smile on his face he asked, “And might I enquire as to your area of speciality?”

“Ah, my dear boy,” the affectionate term seemed a little presumptuous, “I’m fairly sure you’ve already figured that out for yourself.”

“Creative Arts,” Aziraphale replied immediately. “Either Music or Digital Arts.”

One eyebrow rose, the only sign he was impressed. “Close,” came the sardonic reply. “Actually, I’m part of the Physical Sciences faculty.”

“Physical Sciences?” Aziraphale repeated. “My apologies, Mister Crowley.”

“For pegging me as Arts or because I’m actually Science? And call me Crowley, everyone does.”

“Very well,” Aziraphale replied. He itched to know which branch of Physical Sciences was this man’s specialty, but feared further questions would be rude. “I wonder if you might show me to the main staff room?”

“Of course,” Crowley drawled. He indicated the hall to his left, and the men started walking together. His gait was rather more of a lope; Aziraphale was conscious of his own rather more confined pace; it had been described as ‘mincing’ once, and the adjective had stuck uncomfortably in his mind.

“Have you been here long?” Aziraphale asked.

“Too long,” Crowley said. “But really, what else would I be doing?”

What else indeed, Aziraphale thought to himself. Something about this man made it seem obvious that he might have many other important things to do. Aziraphale also had the curious sensation he should _know_ him, somehow. It certainly would explain the slightly amused looks he was being thrown as they walked.

“Main staff room,” Crowley said when they reached the small room. “Letter drops to your left, photocopiers to your right, IT Support over there.” He pointed to a door further down.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said, taking it all in.

“Don’t mention it,” Crowley told him. He flashed a quick grin before sauntering off towards the coffee machine.

“I see you’ve met your mentor.” Anathema’s voice was amused behind him.

“Mentor?” Aziraphale repeated. He wanted to turn but his eyes still lingered on Crowley as he waited for his coffee to brew.

“Did you not read your introduction at all? Philip assigns all the new staff a more experienced mentor, at least for the first year.”

Aziraphale nodded. He hesitated before asking delicately, “Am I to assume Principal Thomas thought Mister Crowley and I would be a good fit for each other?”

The idea made him flush a little more than he perhaps should.

Anathema gave a snort of laughter. “Unlikely,” she told him. “Crowley’s generally not compatible with anyone.”

“Why would Principal Thomas pair us then?” he asked.

“Crowley’s senior enough to be required to take on extra responsibility, and with the influx of newbies last year, I think options are quite thin on the ground.” She gave him a sympathetic look. “It’s only for a year.”

“A year,” Aziraphale repeated faintly. He looked across the room to see Crowley watching them. He raised his coffee to them in a manner which managed to be both insolent and engaging at the same time.

Good Lord, Aziraphale thought to himself. He’d thought this would be a fairly simple way to keep himself fed and sheltered, at least while he considered his options. While the job appeared straightforward enough, he was already alarmingly aware of this man who was apparently his mentor. How much time would he be expected to spend with Crowley? And what was this persistent feeling that he should know Crowley from somewhere?

+++

“Mister Prince,” a voice came from the door of his office, the slow insolent drawl Aziraphale would recognise anywhere, “do you have a minute?”

“Certainly, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, capping his fountain pen and turning to face his visitor. Apparently Crowley’s desk was in this room, but he was there so rarely that Aziraphale had difficultly considering it ‘his’ office. Along with Anathema and a pair of mathematicians, Aziraphale spent considerable time at his desk. He had no idea how Crowley kept up with his corrections and planning, but it was hardly his place to question, especially so few weeks into term.

For now, he adopted a pleasantly neutral expression as he waited for Crowley to speak. The scientist pulled up a seat, managing to lounge in the straight backed chair without even trying. “I’m your mentor,” Crowley said without preamble.

“So I understand,” Aziraphale replied politely.

“We’re meant to meet every week or two, go over any questions you have.” Crowley grinned lazily. “I’m supposed to offer you guidance.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said. “I’m not sure I have any questions at this particular time.”

Crowley raised one eyebrow. “Nothing you’d question?” he asked, putting a lot more meaning into the words than strictly necessary.

“I don’t believe so,” Aziraphale replied, frowning.

“Well I hope you’ll come to me if anything needs explanation,” Crowley said. “You know, if there’s anything that doesn’t seem to be…right.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale replied with a smile, though he wasn’t quite sure what Crowley was insinuating. The other teacher sat for a moment, his eyes probing before he gave a half smile and flowed up out of his seat.

Wait, Aziraphale thought, blinking. _Flowed up?_ What kind of poetic language was that? He shook his head and retrieved his pen, hoping to return to his work, but his mind kept replaying what Crowley had said.

_Nothing you’d question?_

He frowned. The only thing Aziraphale would question here was the strange sense that he had met Crowley somewhere before. But how could Crowley know? Aziraphale hadn’t confided anything about his past since his employment here – not that anyone would believe him even if he had. His goal was to keep his head down, keep an eye on things. Someone would come and find him when he was needed. Until then, his role was clear to him: integrate, assimilate, learn. And that’s what he intended to do. Figuring out Crowley would certainly fall into that category, should he care to do so, but he had to keep his focus on the bigger picture, too.

Giving himself a final nod, Aziraphale turned his attention back to the papers he was marking. If only learning was something his first year students were interested in, he thought with despair.

“Was that Crowley leaving?” Anathema asked, coming in a dropping a pile of books untidily on her desk. She sat on the edge, brushing an errant lock of hair from her eyes. “Was that your first meeting?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale replied. He frowned. “I somehow have the distinct impression he is…disappointed in me.”

“He’s disappointed with everyone,” Anathema said. “Never seems quite satisfied with your answer, does he?”

“No,” Aziraphale said thoughtfully.

Over time, a version of that meeting took place regularly. It became almost ritualistic; Crowley would arrive at Aziraphale’s desk every alternate Tuesday late in the afternoon, drape himself over a chair and question the new teacher with a laconic attitude that somehow didn’t match the watchfulness of his eyes. Aziraphale was always polite, but he never quite knew exactly what Crowley was asking him. The questions were always innocuous enough, but underneath there was a thread of something of which he couldn’t grab hold. It seemed to amuse Crowley when he looked puzzled, and Aziraphale wondered how long it would continue. If the science teacher had some kind of agenda, Aziraphale had no idea what it was – but he could be patient. He had nothing but time, truth be told.

Anathema seemed to find it funny, to some extent – she was always amused to see how unfocussed Aziraphale was after Crowley had left. “Maybe you should just ask him what he wants to know,” she said one afternoon. “There always seems to be some kind of subtext, and I’m telling you, his aura’s not normal.”

Aziraphale nodded. He was used to Anathema’s assessment of people’s auras by now. He’d been careful to craft a perfectly normal aura for himself before coming here – you never knew who was looking – but it was interesting to hear that Anathema thought Crowley’s aura was abnormal.

“What’s not normal about it?” Aziraphale asked.

She frowned, trying to find the right words. “It’s there, it just doesn’t move the right way.”

He nodded, even though he could see that she was frustrated by the words she’d found in the end. There must be lots of people around with unusual auras, he told himself. It didn’t mean anything if Anathema saw something in Crowley’s.


	2. Chapter 2

Several months later, Aziraphale’s eyes flicked again to the carriage clock on his desk. Two minutes after the last time he checked – and over an hour after Crowley would usually have appeared, lounging in the doorway. Aziraphale was loathed to admit that he was now used to their strange little meetings, and yet he couldn’t concentrate. Where was Crowley? With a huff of frustration, Aziraphale tossed his pen, the small act of petulance making him feel marginally better.

“Bad day?”

Crowley’s voice came from behind Aziraphale. He felt a smile come across his face automatically and he fought to subjugate it before turning to see his mentor.

“Oh, Crowley,” he said reprovingly.

“What?” Crowley replied. He placed the bottle on the pile of final year linguistics papers sitting on Aziraphale’s desk. Two glasses followed it. “I’m a bit late tonight, thought we could have a drink.”

Aziraphale frowned at the bottle, and at Crowley. Something was different about today. As the red wine flowed out of the bottle, Aziraphale studied his colleague, trying to put his finger on the difference. Crowley’s energy was more erratic than usual, and Aziraphale suddenly wondered if his aura was moving erratically, too. As Crowley passed the wine, his gaze was more challenging than Aziraphale anticipated.

“Certainly,” Aziraphale said, taking the glass. “Thank you.” He sat back, waiting for Crowley to begin his usual questions.

Instead, Crowley brought a chair over, lounging in it as always, but he remained quiet. It was slightly unnerving; Aziraphale’s role in their conversation was to reply, to react to Crowley, therefore he couldn’t begin until Crowley did. He waited, feeling Crowley’s eyes on him. They were more analytical than usual; the edge of amusement was gone, and Aziraphale realised with a shiver that none of this was the same.

Something had changed, and he couldn’t anticipate this conversation. It was new.

“Good,” Crowley said apropos of apparently nothing. Aziraphale raised his eyebrows but held his tongue. “Since we’ve been getting exactly nowhere,” Crowley said conversationally, “perhaps we need to speak more freely.”

Aziraphale nodded, the heart he’d chosen to include beating fast. He was suddenly very aware of how still it was in the rest of the school. Had Crowley waited deliberately until later this evening, anticipating the absence of the rest of their colleagues?

“Now you’re getting it,” Crowley said.

“I beg your pardon?” Aziraphale said.

“I’ve always been able to read you,” Crowley said. He sat up suddenly, leaning forward intensely. Aziraphale started, his own posture straightening even further in surprise. “You really don’t remember me, do you?”

“Should I?” Aziraphale asked. He felt a flutter of panic as his eyes raked over Crowley, trying to find something familiar. He’d come more or less directly to the school. Where would he and Crowley have met?

“Well, I’d hoped you would,” Crowley said, slumping again and drinking deeply from his glass. “We’re a long way from there, of course.”

“A long way?” Aziraphale asked, trying for a smile and knowing he failed. A feeling of dread was growing in his stomach, and he swallowed hard. Was Crowley intimating he belonged beyond humanity as Aziraphale did? It would explain the aura, although why he wouldn’t fix it Aziraphale couldn’t begin to guess.

“A very long way,” Crowley said. He was watching Aziraphale again, but when Aziraphale smiled apologetically, he rolled his eyes impatiently. “All the way back before the Beginning.”

Aziraphale felt faint. “Before the Beginning?”

“_Before_,” Crowley said intently. His eyes bored into Aziraphale.

“Oh,” Aziraphale managed. As ridiculous as it should sound to have Crowley declare he’d been there at the Beginning, it actually felt very right. Aziraphale could feel his eyes were wide, and he wondered what Crowley could see in him. His mind was swirling – if he didn’t remember Crowley, why was that? Angels didn’t just leave heaven. There were only so many options…

“So,” Aziraphale said carefully. With a pounding heart, he flicked his fingers and the door behind Crowley swung itself closed.

Crowley’s eyebrow rose, but behind the restraint Aziraphale could see his relief. “So,” Crowley murmured. “You’re still working for,” and he jerked his head upwards.

“Yes,” Aziraphale replied. He took a drink from his glass as an excuse to swallow before asking carefully, “And you?” He felt his cheeks colour as he admitted, “I don’t recall seeing you upstairs.”

Crowley watched him for a long moment as though considering how to phrase his response. “It has been a long time,” he said. “Before the Beginning, as I said. I had a…fundamental disagreement with the boss. She wasn’t all that happy with me.”

“She cast you out?” Aziraphale whispered. He shuddered, imagining the loss of that low-level sense of love which accompanied him everywhere. It was distressing to even think about.

“Well, yes,” Crowley said. “It wasn’t the War, though. A little after that. She was more creative on that particular day.”

“More creative?” Aziraphale repeated.

“Instead of casting me all the way down,” Crowley said, “She sent me here.”

“Here?” Aziraphale felt like he had done nothing but repeat Crowley’s statements as though begging for information. Why was his mind working so slowly today?

“Earth,” Crowley said. “Not human, really, but hardly angelic any longer.” His mouth twisted. “I’m here indefinitely, as far as I can tell.”

Aziraphale blinked at him, and only one thought came to him. “You’ve been here since the Beginning?” Crowley nodded. “And you…you remember me?”

Crowley paused, his glass halfway to his mouth. “You really don’t remember, do you?” His voice was laced with sadness that Aziraphale hadn’t anticipated.

“No,” Aziraphale admitted. He felt compelled to add, “I’m sorry.”

Crowley waved one hand as though it was nothing but it rang a little false to Aziraphale. “Doesn’t matter,” he said.

“No, it does,” Aziraphale earnestly. “I want to know…what you remember.”

“Okay,” Crowley said. He drank the rest of his glass in one large gulp, to Aziraphale’s alarm. It looked like he was fortifying himself for something unpleasant. “You and I were Principalities. We were…friends. Found ways to go around the Archangels, the ones that were only interested in power.” He frowned. “There was the leader, what was their name? They always chose an unnecessarily tall corporeal form.”

“Gabriel,” Aziraphale supplied faintly. “He always did like to be in charge.”

“Yes,” Crowley replied.

“He always choses a male form down here,” Aziraphale offered. “He knows they’re more respected.”

“Of course,” Crowley replied. “I bet he made himself tall and handsome too.” He huffed a laugh, waiting for Aziraphale to catch up.

He sat for a moment, letting this new information settle in his brain. Crowley had been an angel. He’d known Aziraphale before the Beginning, before time had any measurement. While Aziraphale remembered being reprimanded for circumventing some of the more ridiculous demands of the Archangels, he didn’t remember Crowley at all. Had something happened when Crowley left Heaven – his very memory removed along with him? And yet he’d carried those memories with him, until they’d ended up here together.

So many years apart, and Crowley remembered. How remarkable that they’d ended up in the same place after all that.

As a though occurred to him, Aziraphale frowned. “You don’t think it’s a coincidence we ended up at the same school?” he said. “I had only been on earth a few days before I came here.”

Crowley thought. “I have no idea,” he said. “Probably. No idea who could be influencing things, though.” He gave a bitter laugh. “Certainly wasn’t me.”

“You don’t have…that option?” Aziraphale asked tactfully.

“Nope,” Crowley replied. “Turns out I’m pretty good at persuading people, though, and I’m pretty damn smart. Not that it’s hard when you’ve had so long to study.” He shrugged. “This seemed the easiest way to get by. Fill in time until the End.”

“You know when the End is going to be?” Aziraphale asked. His head was spinning. This conversation was bouncing all over the place and he wasn’t sure how he felt about any of it quite yet.

“No,” Crowley said, “but I’ll be here for it, and I’ve got to do something to fill in the time, don’t I?”

Aziraphale nodded with the barest minimum of a smile he could raise. “It sounds lonely,” he said without thinking. Crowley didn’t answer, and when Aziraphale focussed his eyes again the same indifference was visible, but now he could see past it. It was lonely, Crowley’s whole attitude screamed.

“Well,” Aziraphale replied, “now that I’m here maybe things will be easier for you.”

“I thought you were working for them,” Crowley said, frowning and pointing up. “She won’t be happy if She finds out you’re cavorting with me.”

“I have no intention of cavorting,” Aziraphale retorted. “Besides,” he paused, “I don’t think She’ll be watching me too closely at the moment.”

Crowley froze, then sat up, a smirk spreading over his face as he searched Aziraphale’s for clues. “Oh, there’s more to this story, isn’t there Angel?” Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably, and Crowley added, “Come on, might as well tell me what we’re dealing with here.”

Aziraphale sighed. “I wasn’t sent down here.” He wiggled uncomfortably. “I chose to come. I don’t think She’s too pleased with me, actually.”

“You chose to come?” Crowley asked. “To Earth?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said. He hated how defensive he sounded. “I just wanted to see for myself. It’s been hundreds of years since I’ve been here, and I know the humans have changed a lot. Anyway, She asked me to find someone to go, and I said I’d rather like to, but I don’t think She really wanted me to, but eventually She said,” he sighed again, “fine.”

“She said ‘fine’, and you actually went?” Crowley echoed, incredulous.

“Yes,” Aziraphale said. “Did I do the wrong thing?”

“I didn’t think Angels could,” Crowley mused. “But I think you might have managed it.”

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale said. “And I’ve been taking notes and everything.”

“Well, why don’t you try and contact someone?” Crowley said. “Ask what’s happening, see if they can give you some inside info.”

Aziraphale blinked at him. “Who would I contact?” he asked.

“Surely you’ve got friends, Angel,” Crowley said, waving one hand.

“Well, not as such,” Aziraphale replied uncomfortably. “I prefer my own company, to be honest. The Archangels can be fairly hostile so I mainly stay out of their way.”

“The Archangels are hostile?” Crowley sputtered. “Actually actively hostile? Since when?!”

“Always,” Aziraphale replied. He frowned. “I just don’t think they like me very much.”

Crowley frowned. “Do you remember the Archangels in the Beginning?” he asked. “Before the Beginning.”

“No specifically,” Aziraphale replied, frowning as he thought. “I mean, they must have been there, and I was there…” he trailed off. “You said you and I were there together. So why don’t I remember…”

“I don’t know,” Crowley said. “Look, why don’t you just…make a report or something? See how they react when you call in?”

“What, now?” Aziraphale asked.

“Yeah,” Crowley said. “Why not?”

Aziraphale stared at him. Several reasons came to him, mostly based around ‘I have no idea what to do if it doesn’t go well’. But finding the words to explain that was difficult, to say the least, so instead he pushed away from his desk and rose slowly.

“We’ll need to go to my classroom,” he said.

“Sure,” Crowley replied, standing as though it was no big deal to accompany an Angel to his classroom so he could contact Heaven.

A swish of his hand and the door was locked, the windows covered; a nervous look at Crowley before the circle revealed itself, desks moving to the side of the room as Aziraphale lit the candles.

“Hello?” Aziraphale said tentatively, sending a burst of energy towards the ceiling. “This is the Principality Aziraphale. I’m looking for the Archangel Gabriel. Is he available, by any chance?”

The flow of light from the ceiling pulsed for a moment, and Aziraphale wondered if there would be any answer at all. How humiliating to be left here with nobody even willing to answer his call, Crowley watching…

“Aziraphale,” Gabriel’s voice came, managing to sound condescending and uninterested all at once. “How are things down there on Earth?”

“Oh, fine, fine,” Aziraphale replied. “Just thought I’d…you know…check in. See what’s happening.”

Crowley gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up. Aziraphale replied with a tight smile, appreciating the support but still very aware he had an audience for this potentially disastrous conversation.

“Oh nothing you need to worry about,” Gabriel said, and his voice had the satisfied edge to it Aziraphale had never liked hearing.

“Oh?” Aziraphale replied, trying to keep his tone light. “What do you mean?”

“Surely She’s told you,” Gabriel replied, the edge thickening into a definite smugness. “Your services are no longer required up here.”

“I beg your pardon?” Aziraphale sputtered. “What on Earth do you mean?”

“I mean,” Gabriel said, impatience creeping in, “that She wasn’t too happy when you decided to saunter down to Earth for a look, and now you’ve shacked up with a disgraced former Angel?”

“She recognises Crowley?” Aziraphale whispered.

“You really thought She’d let you roam around down there on your own without supervision?” Gabriel asked. “How trusting of you, Aziraphale.”

“I’m an Angel,” Aziraphale shot back with atypical heat. “It’s what we’re meant to do!”

“No,” Gabriel said, his tone sharpening, “you’re meant to do what you’re told. And when God wants you to stay in heaven and you decide to look up an old playmate instead…”

“Wait!” Aziraphale interrupted. “_You_ recognise Crowley?”

There was a beat, and for a moment he wondered if Gabriel was going to deny it.

“Of course I do,” the Archangel drawled instead. “Could hardly forget the two of you making trouble, could I? Oh wait,” he added, in that nasty tone Aziraphale had never thought became an Angel, “I couldn’t forget, but She made sure you did.” He sighed theatrically. “She really did try to show you the right path, Aziraphale. Tried to tell you exactly what She wanted you to do, but you had to do your own thing.”

“But-” Aziraphale tried.

“Look, I don’t have time for any more of this,” Gabriel said. “Here’s the deal. You and Crowley are on Earth now. He’s still cast out, but for some reason only known to Her, God’s not prepared to go that far with you. It is, however, a ‘don’t call us, we’ll call you’ situation.” Aziraphale thought he was about to sign off before he added, “Oh! And keep the miracles to a minimum, too.”

Without a farewell, Gabriel severed the connection. As the light faded, Aziraphale felt himself deflate at the same rate. He reached out, relieved to find the low-level sense of love still there, but it was a hollow victory. He’d been all but cast out. Directed not to contact heaven, to keep his miracles to ‘a minimum’, which probably meant ‘none’. For all intents and purposes, he was stuck on Earth.


	3. Chapter 3

Aziraphale sighed, pulling the last of the new essays towards him. They were actually learning, he admitted grudgingly; this lot weren’t as awful as the first of the term. He looked longingly at his drawer, but forced himself to turn back to the essay in front of him instead. The marzipan was his favourite, but he’d promised himself he would finish correcting these essays first. It took all his concentration and probably twice as long as it should have, but finally he was able to cap his pen and place the last essay on the pile.

His hand reached for the drawer without looking, taking a piece of marzipan and eating it immediately. He could tell the box was almost empty; he would have to take time out of his day off tomorrow to go down to town and buy another. Ever since the disastrous conversation with Gabriel he hadn’t dared even that small a miracle. Much as he would have liked to avoid the rigmarole of catching a public bus and using human money, the very real possibility of being cast out of Heaven forever was a powerful motivator. And so he would endure the uncomfortable ride and the grimy feel of coins that had been handled by countless people.

Automatically, Aziraphale reached out for the pulse of love that still connected him to Heaven. He couldn’t tell if it was weaker than before; he checked so often it was difficult to tell. But it was still there, which was the main thing, and he’d done the best he could to minimise his interactions with Crowley in case they were monitoring him. Not that it had been easy. He could feel Crowley’s eyes on him when he entered the staffroom (he’d stopped weeks ago unless he was collecting mail or using the photocopier), and if he didn’t believe that Crowley had no powers he’d think their constant passing in the halls was as a result of divine intervention.

“You still here?” Anathema’s voice came from behind him.

Aziraphale spun to see her standing in the doorway, her usual precarious stack of books teetering in her arms.

“Just finished up,” he said. “Marzipan?” She was one of the few who appreciated the treat and with whom he would share the precious resource.

“You’ve been a bit off lately,” she said in her usual upfront manner. She’d settled herself on the desk beside his, looking at him with her head tilted in a way that said, _I’m reading your aura_. Sure enough, “Your aura’s slipping.”

“Slipping?” Aziraphale said. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” she said, taking a piece of marzipan, “you did a good job when you got here, but it’s faded quite a lot, and not in the usual way of someone who’s depressed. So,” she said casually, “what are you, actually?”

Aziraphale stared at her, not quite understanding how they’d ended up here.

“Come on,” she said, “My family have been occultists for centuries. My ultimate great grandmother was one of the last witches burned at the stake in England, and I’m telling you, there’s not an entity you can name I haven’t heard of.”

He looked at her, the calmness she was exuding, and without thinking, he blurted, “I’m an angel. Well, I was. Am. It’s…complicated.”

“How?” she asked.

Aziraphale blinked. He hadn’t exactly been planning this conversation, but she wasn’t any of the things he thought a human would be when he declared himself a Divine Being. “I’ve been kind of cast out. But not really. Apparently I’m not welcome in Heaven, but I’m still an angel.”

“Right,” she said, chewing slowly. “So you still have your power, then?”

He nodded. “Not that I’m really supposed to use it. Gabriel advised me not to perform too many miracles,” he said miserably. “Made it sound like I’d been throwing them around like confetti.”

Anathema raised one eyebrow. “Sounds like a lovely fellow,” she said dryly. “Is that how you got the job here?”

“I suppose so,” Aziraphale admitted. “But I am interested in languages, and I was there when Latin was actually being used, so I do have an advantage over…” he trailed off.

“Over humans,” Anathema said. She nodded thoughtfully. “So why here, then?”

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale said. “I just picked somewhere on a map. Somewhere I could associate with a small group of humans over a period of time. Observe their mannerisms and customs. Be ready when…” he stopped abruptly.

“When what?” Anathema asked.

“When the End comes,” he said resignedly.

“The End is coming?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Eventually,” Aziraphale said. “I have no idea when, of course, but it pays to be ready.”

She looked at him steadily. “So you’ll fight, then?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Well assuming I’m correct, ‘the End’ means a war between,” she pointed up, “and,” she pointed down. “So you’ll be fighting for team Heaven?”

“I…I don’t think so,” Aziraphale replied carefully. His heart was beating faster just at the idea of fighting. “I’m more of a pacifist, actually.”

“But you’re down here researching humanity. Doesn’t that make you on their side?”

Aziraphale looked at her helplessly. “Well, I suppose…” he sighed. “I don’t even know if they care about humanity,” he admitted. “But I…I want to know. So I’m here. Finding out. Maybe, if they know enough about what’s happening here, on Earth, it might…change things.”

“Change things?” Anathema repeated. She raised one eyebrow at Aziraphale. “Are you talking about putting off the End?”

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale admitted. “But I don’t see why our…disagreement has to mean the end of everything.” He looked at her miserably, knowing she wouldn’t really understand. Humans had the idea of their own inevitable demise explained to them from a young age; it was part of their experience. But for an angel, the idea of things finishing was…distressing. Well, he couldn’t speak for anyone else, really; no other angels had ever seemed to care as much as Aziraphale did.

She hummed in response. “Sounds contentious,” she said. “Well, don’t worry, nobody’ll hear about it from me,” she added cheerfully, hopping off the desk. “Is there anything I need to do to be ready?”

“For the End?” Anathema nodded, looking at him expectantly. “No,” Aziraphale replied. “I mean, I don’t know if it will even be this century.”

“Right,” Anathema said. “Well if you hear anything, let me know.”

“I will,” Aziraphale said faintly. He still couldn’t believe he was having this conversation with a human – and one that was completely calm, even nonchalant about it all. As though he might casually mention the End of the World one day over the photocopier.

“Are you planning on staying here, then?” Anathema asked, absently straightening the pile of books on her desk.

“Well, yes,” Aziraphale said. “I don’t really have anywhere else to go.”

“What do you mean?” Anathema replied. “You could go anywhere. Literally, anywhere.” She grinned at him, then waved a farewell as she left the office.

Aziraphale stared after her, his brain whirring. Was she right? Could he go…anywhere? Potentially yes, of course; a single miracle could see him anywhere on Earth, or with enough money to get there comfortably. But what would be the point?

“Exactly,” a voice came from the doorway, and Aziraphale started at the sound.

“I beg your pardon?” he asked, blinking at Crowley. The man looked exactly the same as he always did, the angel thought crossly. Did he own any other clothing? And what was he doing here, after all Aziraphale’s careful avoidance of him lately?

“I said, ‘exactly’,” Crowley repeated, pushing off the doorframe and sauntering in. “You were wondering what the point would be if you were to take off gallivanting across the globe.”

“I was not,” Aziraphale protested. “I was…debating its merits.”

“Right,” Crowley said, grinning at him. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“You’ve been following me,” Aziraphale retorted.

“Because you’ve been avoiding me,” Crowley came back. “I am your mentor, remember, you are contractually obliged to meet with me for the rest of the year.” He sat down at the next desk, tossing his glasses on the surface.

“Very well,” Aziraphale said, sitting up straighter with a little wiggle. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Heard from upstairs yet?” Crowley asked.

“That has nothing to do with my work here!” Aziraphale hissed.

“No, but you asked what I wanted to talk about,” Crowley said. “Well? Have you?”

“No,” Aziraphale admitted. “It’s been weeks, I would have thought even a memo might have come through, but nothing.”

“But you’re still connected, you can still feel…” Crowley trailed off, waving one hand.

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, “I can still feel Her love.” He hesitated then admitted, “I can’t tell if it’s weaker than it was, though.”  
Crowley nodded, his face serious. “I didn’t realise it varied,” he admitted.

Aziraphale hesitated, then asked, “Do you remember it?”

Crowley shrugged, an action Aziraphale knew to mean, ‘I don’t want to say it, but yes’.

Impulsively, Aziraphale said, “Do you want…I mean it wouldn’t be the same, but I could show you…similar. If you want.”

Crowley stared at him, yellow eyes blinking. The moment stretched out and Aziraphale was conscious of his heart beating. He remembered wondering if he’d notice having a heartbeat, then if he’d ever get used to it – and now he was hyper aware of it again as it pounded against his chest while he waited for Crowley to reply.

Slowly Crowley nodded.

Aziraphale sat up, straightening his tie before concentrating. He brought his hand up, feeling himself hesitate. Would he still be able to draw power down from Heaven? Would they notice if he did? It wasn’t a miracle, exactly, but it wasn’t precisely human, either. Taking a deep breath, he lowered his hand. He’d draw it from inside instead. Easier to control he told himself, and nothing to do with Heaven, ignoring the additional note that it was a far more intimate gesture. Crowley would never know the difference.

Digging deep inside, Aziraphale drew on his love, directing a gentle stream towards Crowley, flicking his fingers to make it curl around his shoulders. To his astonishment, it was visible. Golden light, sparkling of its own accord, twisting in the air like ecstasy incarnate as it swirled around Crawley, brushing against his skin again and again. Aziraphale watched carefully as Crowley’s eyes widened when it touched him, keeping the stream steady for a few minutes before carefully tailing it off. It lingered for a moment in the air between them before fading.

Crowley let out a deep breath, his shoulders slumping as the last tendrils spun and vanished. Aziraphale was aware they were both breathing a little harder; he wondered how Crowley felt. Did he feel the tickle of individual strands as they caressed him? Did they evoke memories of his time in Heaven, or were they a single sensation, new and startling to his human form?

Aziraphale wondered if Crowley would read these thoughts and his face warmed, hoping he wouldn’t. They were somehow too personal to share this time. A long quiet beat passed, only their breathing breaking the silence. Finally, Crowley cleared his voice and spoke.

“No,” he said hoarsely, “I do not remember that.”

“It won’t be quite the same,” Aziraphale said quickly. He was unsettled by the experience. He couldn’t remember ever consciously sending love out like that, and certainly never to an individual. He had a base level of love for everything, of course, but this had felt far more personal, something he did not anticipate. Was it always like that? _Seeing_ it, watching as it touched his target, wondering how they were finding the experience? If it wasn’t always like that – if this was different – Aziraphale tried not to think too much about it. That wasn’t something he wanted to examine too closely right now.

“Still,” Crowley said. He frowned, scratching absently at his neck. “How did you do that? I mean, if I’m basically human…I didn’t know you could do that.”

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale said, distracted. Crowley’s fingers were touching the very place the first tendril had touched him. Did he realise, or was it an unconscious recognition? “I’ve never done it before.”

Crowley nodded. “I didn’t know…it was intense,” he said, frowning, shifting in his seat. With a sudden startling movement he stood up, sending a quick glance at Aziraphale before striding out without looking back again.

Aziraphale blinked at the suddenly empty room. Had it been too much? He’d deliberately kept it short and made it as gentle as he could manage, but perhaps the human form was more delicate than he’d anticipated. Ultimate Divine love was meant to be overpowering, especially for humans. Most of those who experienced it directly lost their minds to one extent or another. That was why Metatron was created, in the end; direct contact with God tended to send one insensible. A little inconvenient when leading an army, as it turned out. Surely, though, a gentle stream from a mid-level (and currently shunned) angel wasn’t the same thing, was it? Either way, he should be more careful next time.

No.

There wouldn’t be a next time. Now that Crowley knew what it was, he wouldn’t need it again. Aziraphale flexed his fingers, wondering if the tingle he felt was the same that made Crowley reach up and scratch his neck. Shaking his head, he turned back to his desk, only to see the completed essays in their pile. He’d finished every piece of correction. Nothing to distract himself with. He would have to find something else. Something to keep his mind off Crowley. Reaching absently into his box of marzipan, Aziraphale realised he was clutching the last piece. He sighed, looking at it forlornly. He really would have to go and buy some more. Perhaps the walk tomorrow would clear his head.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, lovers and fighters: I've done some language research, but not an extensive deep dive into the various translations of words from foreign languages into English. The translations might be right, or not quite right, but bigger picture: it doesn't really affect the plot, so instead of spending ten hours doing that, I finished the chapter instead. Let's focus on that, shall we?  
Lemme know if there's a huge error (I've mentioned the wrong language, for example), otherwise, relax and enjoy the marzipan. <3

The next day dawned clear. Well, ‘dawned’ was a strong term, Aziraphale thought, staring out the window; it was more that the night grudgingly gave way to a muted light with no discernible source. The clouds were still low, even though it wasn’t actively snowing, but every surface was white, marking the beginning of winter with a vengeance. Fingers of icy lace clung to the corners of his window.

As he dressed he wondered if there was a divine vengeance at play, too.

That was silly. As if She would take a personal hand in this whole mess. Knowing Gabriel, he was speaking for Her without even briefing Her on what was going on; he did like to be in charge. Not that it made a whole lot of difference to Aziraphale. He would still have to go through someone to get to Her, and while Gabriel was the most practiced at being snide and rude, none of the Archangels were all that pleasant.

He preferred to think of today’s unexpected snowfall as the natural order of things. In response he pulled out heavier boots, dressing with the usual care and an additional layer of long underwear. He’d allowed his corporeal form to become quite rounded and the layer of insulation was useful but he had no idea how cold it was outside. Gloves, a hat, scarf and his heaviest coat and he was ready to venture into the village in search of marzipan. He’d done his research, of course – the confectioner here was exceptionally talented and made the tiny marzipan pears on site. What would be the point of settling himself at a school where the local delicacies were sub-par? That was hardly a worthwhile human experience.

“Good morning, Aziraphale,” Delilah greeted him as he entered the main hall.

“Good morning,” he replied.

“Not joining us for breakfast?” she asked him, noting his bundled up form.

“Not today,” he smiled apologetically. “I will find something in the village to suffice, I am sure. I’d rather ensure I am down and back before the weather turns, should it do so.”

“Of course,” she said. “After more marzipan, I’m guessing? Well, enjoy the walk, but remember it’s uphill on the way back!”

He smiled at her, not entirely certain what she was implying, and continued out of the school. The path was well worn, even with a layer of snow over it, and from this vantage point, Aziraphale could actually see the village. No chance of getting lost, and with luck – and a brief stop at the bakery – he would be back within two hours.

The confectioner really was a marvel, Aziraphale thought later, as he walked slowly up the hill back to the school. He’d convinced Aziraphale to take a rather wider selection of sweets than he usually would, offering samples of homemade chocolate truffles and Turkish delight, and as a result the boxes in his carry bag were heavy. This must have been what Delilah meant, he thought to himself.

“Probably was,” a voice sounded in front of him, and Aziraphale looked up, startled. He’d been concentrating on navigating a particularly rocky section of the path and hadn’t seen Crowley coming in the opposite direction.

“How do you do that?” Aziraphale asked. How could he be dressed almost exactly the same and not be cold? A Belstaff thrown on over his usual attire, worn open at front was hardly sufficient against the chill in the air. Despite himself, Aziraphale’s heart was beating faster at the presence of Crowley and he swallowed, trying to ignore it.

“I don’t know,” Crowley replied carelessly. “It only works with you, though.”

“I see,” Aziraphale lied. He very much did not see. “And what brings you out today?”

“Fancied a walk,” Crowley said. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets. “Not sure I’m a huge fan of snow as a concept, though. She really didn’t think that one through, did She?”

“I believe that’s the kind of comment that may have contributed to your…” Aziraphale gestured with his hand.

“Banishment?” Crowley asked, turning to walk back up the hill with Aziraphale.

He didn’t mention that he’d now turned around without actually getting to the village, and neither did Aziraphale; the unspoken acknowledgement that he was actually looking for the angel hung between them, loading each glance with something heavier than usual. Now that they were walking, Crowley seemed different, more subdued. Aziraphale wondered if it was the love experiment the previous day, but he couldn’t think of a way to bring it up that wasn’t excruciatingly awkward.

“Yes,” Aziraphale replied. He glanced sideways. “She never did do well with feedback. Unless it was the positive kind.”

“Fawning is what Archangels do best,” Crowley agreed. “That’s why they ended up there, and we ended up technically higher than them.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale mused. “I never really understood that.” He took a sudden breath and blurted, “Why was it we were even cast as Principalities?” he gestured between them. “I mean, I don’t possess any of the…” he trailed off.

“Attitude?” Crowley suggested. “Drive? Ruthlessness?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale agreed. “The Archangels are far more suited to this job. Well, not _this _job,” he gestured around, then sighed. “Given the choice I’d have been a Guardian, I think.”

Crowley didn’t reply for a long while, and Aziraphale wondered if he was offended at something. “Do you want to know?” he asked suddenly. “To…remember?”

Aziraphale stopped, turning to look at Crowley. “What do you mean?”

Crowley stopped too, returning the look with an expression so utterly unlike himself that it made the angel’s mouth drop open. He wasn’t fidgeting, slouching or looking away restlessly. He stood still, looking directly at Aziraphale, and his expression was…nervous. Uncertain?

Frightened.

Aziraphale swallowed, reviewing their conversation, trying to figure out what Crowley was offering.

“You remember why each of us were cast the we were?” he whispered. It must have been aeons ago…

“Not everyone,” Crowley said, his voice quiet and serious. The usual thread of amusement that underpinned almost everything he said was gone, and it sent shivers down Aziraphale’s spine. “But you and I…yes.”

Aziraphale blinked at him. “And you can show me?”

“I can’t show you,” Crowley corrected him, “but I’ll let you look. If you wanted to…see.”

Aziraphale’s mouth dropped open. He’d heard of it, of course, of angels delving into the memories of humans; demons had mastered the art during World War 2, pretending to be human to further the suffering and loss of life for their own amusement.

A human voluntarily opening themselves up to it…that was new.

“You couldn’t tell me?” Aziraphale heard himself ask. The carry bag was cutting into his fingers, he thought dimly flexing them to change the grip a little. The sensation was dim, as though his brain couldn’t prioritise it right now – and why would it, with this conversation happening?

Crowley was thinking, his eyes boring into Aziraphale with an intensity he’d not seen before. “It needs to be experienced,” he said finally. Before Aziraphale could respond, he added so quietly the angel almost missed it, “I want you to know. If you want.”

“I do,” Aziraphale said immediately, the words slipping out without thought. He cleared his throat. “If you…if you’re sure.”

“It would help both of us,” Crowley said carefully. “If you…understood what I’m…the memories I have. Of Before. Of us.”

The emphasis he put on ‘us’ made Aziraphale shiver. This was something important, something Crowley wasn’t smirking about, or carelessly suggesting over a bottle of wine. He’d come out looking for Aziraphale, his demenour as drastically different as it was possible to be, and now he looked nervous at the response.

Was this the result of last night?

“Very well,” Aziraphale replied. “Did you…how should we…do it?”

“Tonight,” Crowley said immediately. “Come to my room after supper.”

“After supper?” Aziraphale replied.

“I don’t know how long it will take,” Crowley replied. “Or how…what we might want…need.” He blew out a breath, frustrated. “We’ll need privacy and time,” he said clearly. “After supper.”

With a jerky little nod, he strode away, back up the hill faster than Aziraphale could hope to follow. Not that he was actually moving; his brain was still trying to wrap itself around the conversation he’d just had. He blinked up the hill, now still and silent. Crowley was gone, but the memory of their conversation lingered in the shock still slowing Aziraphale’s thought processes.

Crowley remembered them. Remembered their friendship. Was it a friendship? He didn’t know.

Frowning, he began walking again, considering their initial conversation. Crowley had described it as a friendship…but he’d hesitated, as though another word had come to mind first. What had he been thinking? What else could he have been thinking?

Aziraphale considered it, thinking hard. Language was limited, of course; English moreso than some of its predecessors, especially with regards to the subtleties of human relations. ‘Friends’ could cover a range of connections, but what other word would Crowley have been searching for? Did Crowley have the knowledge of languages to find another, more suitable word?

_Acquaintances_. No. From the way Crowley and Gabriel had spoken, they had known each other more closely than that term would imply.

_Brothers_. A human term. Not applicable to angels; hardly a concept Crowley would apply to them.

_Confidantes_. Perhaps? It didn’t seem quite right.

Aziraphale grimaced. English was such a restrictive language. He was an angel, he thought in terms of love, the subtle differences in how beings felt about each other. All relationships boiled down to love, in his experience; it was simply finding the word to describe that specific shade.

Immediately, words flooded his mind.

_Love. Lust. Affection. Adoration. Esteem. Regard. _

No, he told himself. Not English. Look more widely.

_Delectare. Diligare. Caritas. _

Not just Latin roots.

_Ren’ai. Ishq. Agape. Philia. Ai. Achai. Pachm. Querer. Storge. Rati._

The list rolled on across cultures and centuries, his mind offering suggestion after suggestion. Aziraphale sighed. So many possibilities. How was he to know which was right? The realisation came to him slowly as he plodded up the hill, and it was only as he reached the gate to the school that he accepted it.

He would never be able to find the right term, even with an angel’s grasp of human languages. Crowley was right. He needed to experience it to understand. He couldn’t describe what he didn’t understand – and he had no idea what he was trying to find a label for. From the way Crowley approached their conversation, it was important. Given how entirely it had consumed his mind on the walk back to school, it must be important to him too.

Returning to his desk, Aziraphale carefully stowed his purchases. At least he would be able to avoid walking back to the village in the next few weeks, with such a haul. He’d just removed his outer clothing, cold fingers awkward, when Anathema walked in.

“Been down to the village?” she asked. A steaming mug of tea was cradled in her hands, and Aziraphale looked at it longingly.

“Yes,” he said. “I was out of marzipan.”

“Sorry,” she said, spinning her chair so she could look at him as they spoke. “I do seem to eat quite a bit of it.”

“Not at all,” Aziraphale said. He flexed his fingers, still cold and a little stiff from carrying the heavy bag. “Er..I wonder, could I ask you to close your eyes for a moment?” She raised one eyebrow, but did as he asked. A quick miracle and a mug of his own, hot and filled with frothy cocoa, was in his hands. “Thank you,” Aziraphale said gratefully.

“I’m not going to ask,” Anathema said when she opened her eyes.

“Technically you didn’t see it,” Aziraphale said, knowing his guilt was audible. “So it’s not a problem.”

“Uh-huh,” she said skeptically. “So, did you see Crowley on the way?” she asked him, grinning over her mug.

“I did,” Aziraphale said. “Why do you ask?”

“He was looking for you,” she told him. She leaned forward. “I have to ask…is there something between you?”

“What?” Aziraphale asked. Was he truly that easy to read? Anathema did know him better than any other human, but still…

“Well, from the way you’ve been avoiding him,” she said, “I thought maybe something had happened. And then not. Since you’re…you know.”

“No,” he said defensively, but when he looked back, her expression was entirely unconvinced. Aziraphale sighed. “Well I’m already practically banished,” he murmured sadly. With a deep breath, he opened his mouth, summarising all that had happened between he and Crowley. It felt good to get it out, and Anathema, to his endless gratitude, listened without comment or question until he finished.

“Wow,” she said finally.

“Precisely,” he said. They sat in silence for a few moments, sipping at tea and cocoa.

“So you’re going to go to his room tonight?” Anathema asked finally. “Find out what you two used to be like?”

“I’m not sure,” Aziraphale admitted.

“Well how else will you know where he’s coming from?” she asked.

“I thought I’d just…ask him,” Aziraphale said. Even to his own ears it sounded lame.

“What, and he’s going to be able to sum all that up for you?” Anathema said, rolling her eyes. “Didn’t you already say he said you were friends?”

“Well yes,” Aziraphale replied, “but we both know the English language is rather limited when it comes to defining interpersonal relationships.”

Anathema looked at him, tilting her head. “I don’t think you need to define interpersonal relationships,” she said. “You’re angels, or you were, or…whatever. The point is, you loved each other. You need to find the right word for _that_.”

Aziraphale stared. “How do you do that?” he asked, frowning.

She shrugged. “Now that you’re not trying so hard, your aura is much easier to read.” She waved her free hand in the air around him. “Confusion and a thousand flavours of love.”

Aziraphale nodded slowly. “I was trying to find the right word,” he said. “But I don’t know where to begin.” He glanced at her. “I assume your romance languages are passable?”

“Of course,” she said without changing expression.

“_Diligare_?” Aziraphale began tentatively.

“Esteemed love,” Anathema nodded. “Affectionate friendship, perhaps. Or,” she said carefully, “_Amare_.”

Aziraphale swallowed. “Romantic love,” he translated. His cheeks heated as he clarified, “A sexual definition would not be applicable to angels, you understand.”

“Sure,” Anathema acknowledged. “_Caritas_?”

“Charitable love?” Aziraphale considered. “The very essence of God’s love, in my interpretation. I believe this may be the best equivalent for the love angels feel for all living beings.” He hesitated. “From what Crowley has said, I understand our bond was somewhat…closer.”

Anathema nodded. “I have some experience with other classical languages,” she said carefully. “They often have a wider range of words. _Pachm_, for example. A Tamil word describing a deeply connected love. Humans tend to use it to mean parental love.” She considered for a moment. “I think of it more as…unconditional love.”

Aziraphale nodded. “I am familiar with it,” he said carefully. Translation was always difficult. He was still considering it when she went on,

“_Hanann_, an Arabic word. Compassion, tenderness loving care. _Cumann_, from Irish, the love between friends.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said as she drew breath to continue. Anathema expression was somewhere between knowing and smug, and he looked at her with exasperation. “I think you have made your point abundantly clear.”

“That you can’t actually find the right word if you don’t know what you’re trying to describe?” Anathema said, raising her eyebrows again.

“Precisely,” Aziraphale sighed. Resignedly he made to drink from his mug, only to find it empty. Defiantly, he filled it again, not even bothering to ask Anathema to close her eyes. “I suppose I’ll be seeing Crowley tonight, then.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Anathema said.

Aziraphale didn’t respond.


	5. Chapter 5

Aziraphale swallowed, hesitating before knocking on Crowley’s door. Despite his acceptance that he needed to come here, to see what Crowley wanted to show him, he had grown increasingly uneasy as the afternoon wore on. Nothing had captured his attention and in the end he’d opted to walk again, a slow reflective circumnavigation of the school grounds to pass the time.

As darkness fell and he could no longer avoid joining the other staff for supper, Aziraphale retired inside. He ate the smallest amount he could without being impolite, his stomach in knots at the unknown events that would unfold as soon as this meal was finished. It was practically criminal, ignoring the delicious meal in front of him, but his roiling stomach couldn’t cope with too much. The French teacher beside him tried to engage him in conversation, and he did his best to be polite, replying to her questions as best he could, but Aziraphale was aware of how closed he appeared.

“_Excusez-moi_,” he murmured finally, having barely tasted the chocolate pudding in front of him. He flashed a quick smile at the woman, making a mental note to make it up to her as soon as possible. A few moments in his own room, trying to decide if he should change his clothes, before it could be put off no longer.

Words flashed into his mind as he walked, Gabriel’s sneering words in their last conversation. What had he said about Crowley? “…an old playmate…the two of you making trouble…” What had he meant? Whatever it was, it had made Gabriel angry, an anger he’d held onto for millennia now. And it had involved both Aziraphale and Crowley. Aziraphale had never questioned it, but now there was a possibility he’d find out what had happened in a past he didn’t even know he had. The human heart of his was working overtime, pounding hard as he moved through the school.

It seemed like seconds until he was waiting for Crowley.

“Hi,” Crowley said as he opened the door. He was dressed the same as always, and once again Aziraphale wondered if his wardrobe consisted of half a dozen identical pairs of trousers and waistcoats.

“Hello,” Aziraphale replied. “Thank you for inviting me.” The polite phrase fell from his lips without a thought, and he flushed, stepping past at Crowley’s invitation.

The sitting room was small, and if it was the same as Aziraphale’s there would be a small bathroom and bedroom off it. The room was sparse, with barely a personal item as far as Aziraphale could see. Only a CD player and stack of CDs sat on the mantle, otherwise the room might have been awaiting an occupant.

“Take a seat,” Crowley said. He indicated a pair of leather chairs pulled up to the small fireplace.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale replied, perching himself primly on one of the seats, waiting for Crowley. He clearly had an idea about this evening. Best to let him lead things.

“Have you ever done this before?” Crowley asked.

“No,” Aziraphale replied. “I didn’t even realise it was possible.”

“Oh, it is,” Crowley said grimly. “Demons perfected it a long time ago.”

Aziraphale didn’t ask. He watched as Crowley walked over, settling himself in the other chair, knees almost close enough to touch Aziraphale’s. He wasn’t slumping as he usually did; instead he was almost matching Aziraphale, sitting forward with his elbows on his knees. 

_Nervous_.

“So I figure if you try and see,” Crowley said, nervous fists bouncing on his knees, “and I let you in…you should be able to see.”

“See your memories,” Aziraphale repeated.

“Yes,” Crowley said. He took a deep breath. “I have no idea if it will work. Or if you’ll see what I want you to see or…something else. From what I’ve heard you’ll get some level of emotion along with the memory.”

“Alright,” Aziraphale said. He flexed his own hands, wondering what he should do.

“Well,” Crowley said. “Should we?”

“Oh! Yes,” Aziraphale replied. He took a deep breath, looking into Crowley’s eyes for a long second before closing his eyes. It felt intrusive enough to do this, but looking into Crowley’s eyes at the same time was too much.

Carefully, he reached out with his mind, searching for Crowley. To his astonishment, Crowley was there, or the sense of him was; it was the precise colour of his eyes, pulsing slowly in the approximate place his corporeal body was sitting. Aziraphale explored the colour, trying to see what emotions he could find associated with it. Fear, which wasn’t surprising. Trust, which was a surprise, though he reminded himself that from Crowley’s perspective they had known each other a long, long time. Tentatively, Aziraphale pushed further, looking for a way into the space before him. It was like merging, he thought as his mind pressed immediately into Crowley’s awareness. As soon as he broached the edges, a whirl of images assaulted him. They were indistinct, rushing at him without meaning; he gasped, opening his eyes and pulling himself away instinctively.

“It’s alright,” Crowley’s voice said, and Aziraphale started when a hand reached out to take his. Immediately the images coalesced, and he could see them all, sitting separately as though waiting for him to examine each. He clutched the fingers in his, holding onto the order they imposed in his mind. Tentatively he reached with his mind for a memory that looked familiar; he and Crowley standing in a snowy landscape, talking. It was clear and precise, the two of them only hours ago.

As it came into sharper focus, he could hear them both talking. It was uncanny, watching himself; was his face really that kind? He was sure he wasn’t so radiant in real life.

Hang on, he told himself. You’re seeing Crowley’s memory. This is how Crowley sees you. His impression of the conversation.

As he thought of it, the emotions surrounding the memory changed. Aziraphale concentrated, listening to the conversation, trying to identify the emotions as they swirled.

The words were clear, and as Crowley offered to show his memories to Aziraphale fear and anxiety clouded everything.

“Goodness,” Aziraphale said, gasping. He opened his eyes, blinking at the corporeal world around him, disoriented at the change. His fingers were clenched tight around Crowley’s.

“I was thinking about today,” Crowley told him. His eyes were yellow, guarded and watchful. “Just to get used to it.”

“Was it alright?” Aziraphale said, still blinking hard.

“Strange,” Crowley replied. “I could…feel you there. Not control where you were going, really. But I could see what you could see.”

“I think I could only see what you were thinking about,” Aziraphale said. “In a broad sense.” He hesitated, wanting to be honest. “I could navigate, to a point, though the memories available were limited.”

Crowley nodded. “I believe there is an element of collaboration involved.” He hesitated before asking, “Do you…would you care to continue?”

“If you want,” Aziraphale said. For some reason, he curled his fingers into Crowley’s, and after a beat, Crowley’s curled back.

“Okay,” Crowley replied. He swallowed hard, fear blooming in his eyes. “Just promise me something.”

“Certainly,” Aziraphale said, heart thumping.

“If you decide to leave Aspley,” Crowley said, “make it a clean break. Leave, and don’t come back.”

Aziraphale stared at him in shock. What was in these memories of his?

“Promise me,” Crowley said, the words desperate.

“I promise,” Aziraphale said automatically.

“Right,” Crowley said. He took a deep breath. “I’ll try and do this in order. They’re older, though, I don’t know how clear they’ll be. I can explain at the end if it doesn’t make sense.”

“Okay,” Aziraphale said. He closed his eyes, the yellow eyes the last thing he saw before his eyelids closed over his pupils.

The awareness was there again, and once again he sunk himself into it. This time the memories hovered, waiting for him. Aziraphale hesitated, wondering if one would present itself as the first to be viewed. None did, so he reached out for one that looked a little clearer than the others.

It was a fragment, only a second or so on a loop. His own face looked out at him, eyes bright with the laughter than curved up his mouth and raised his eyebrows. Something was funny; it was written across his face, the delight as he chuckled at something. Aziraphale thought it might have been running in slow motion, and surely his eyes weren’t that shade of electric blue?

But neither of those was the overwhelming element of this memory. The strength of love that hit him almost pulled him out of Crowley’s consciousness. It was all an encompassing part of Crowley’s memory, mixed with pride and delight that made it certain Crowley had been the cause of the laughter and was enjoying it as much as Aziraphale appeared to be. The love was warm and fierce and Aziraphale never knew such strength could be directed his way.

Or rather, he’d forgotten.

Shaking, he pulled back, choosing another memory at random. It was a scene, a conversation, and this time the specific words were indistinct; instead he had an impression of what was said on each side. The clearest memory was his own hand landing on Crowley’s shoulder (it felt like his own…), the weight of it as it pressed down to make his point, his eyes serious and focused.

They were sharing some kind of confidence, warm words flowing between them as they whispered, the sense of intimacy almost overwhelming.

Aziraphale swallowed. More memories flowed past and he tried to make sense of them. He _was_ Crowley, seeing himself; it was unnerving, but he tried to focus.

He watched as Aziraphale gently offered corrections to a seething Gabriel as he spoke the Word to a group of wide eyed angels. Mirth, pride and awe mixed with pulsing love surrounded the memory.

Gabriel’s sneering comments drew only a blandly polite reply from the Aziraphale he could see. Aziraphale could feel anger bursting through the memory; his own hand was tight around Crowley’s arm, and the desire to wrench away fought with that to lean into the body hurrying him away from the argument.

They were arguing. Desperation clawed at him; Aziraphale heard himself explain that he didn’t care that Guardians would be the lowest order, that’s what he wanted to do. The panic filled Aziraphale as it had Crowley, foreseeing an eternity of misery at the hands of Gabriel.

“Please,” Crowley’s voice said, the words ringing with desperation, “I’m sure God will cast Gabriel and his friends as Archangels, She as much as said so last time. As Principalities we’d rank higher than them.”

They were some of the only words clear in these oldest of memories; Aziraphale wondered why they were so important for Crowley to hold onto them for so long. His wondering was swept away by the relief and guilt as he saw his own head nod slowly.

Another memory. They were agreeing on some kind of plan. God was planning on assigning angels to orders; they had to ensure they were senior to Gabriel and his posse of officious angels. The need was so strong in Crowley Aziraphale could almost taste it.

They were discussing the meaning of the Word with God, trying to wrest understanding from Her, enduring the patient smiles as She refused to explain her Plan, which they’d expected. At some point he saw himself shoot a tiny smile over, and Aziraphale felt it as Crowley had – a single spark of pure joy bouncing through him, bright and clear as the rest of the memory faded.

Another image rose again, almost the same as the first; his own face suffused with joy. The accompanying emotion this time was relief and a sense of calm acceptance. The love was still there, as strong as ever.

Before Aziraphale could take a breath, another memory rose, this one clearer than the others. He could see himself speaking to Gabriel; the angel looked furious. He was backed up by his usual crowd of hangers-on, each looking as disgruntled as their leader was angry.

This time, the words were clear.

“Are you disputing the Word of God, Archangel Gabriel?” Aziraphale said mildly. “Because it was Her decision to cast you and your friends in the role of archangels. You have so enjoyed monitoring everything that was happening up here, I’m sure She felt you would flourish in a similar role with respect to…” he paused, looking back. “What was She calling it, Crowley?”

“Earth, I believe,” Crowley said. Barely suppressed mirth, pride and love battled for supremacy in the moment.

“Earth,” Aziraphale repeated, turning back to Gabriel. “If you have any questions about how to administer your divine ministry, let us know. We Principalities are here to guide you.”

The memory ended in a blur of mirth, joy, love and the rush of adrenalin Aziraphale associated with winning at something. Not an emotion he’d had a lot of experience with lately. And had he really ever been so…confident?

With a gasp, Aziraphale pulled out of Crowley’s awareness, opening his eyes and falling sideways in his chair. The vertigo this time was more severe, and he had to breathe deeply, blinking hard to bring himself back to this reality.

“What…explain,” he panted. “Please…I don’t understand…”

Only when Crowley’s fingers tightened around his did he realise they were still holding hands. It took a few seconds before Crowley started speaking; when he did, his voice was thick with emotion.

“We were the best of friends,” Crowley said. “Before the Beginning, angels were all the same. Equals. But God had a Plan, and She wanted different groups to have different roles. Creating Earth as She did meant She needed messengers, guides, and angels to keep an eye on things.” He sighed. “She shouldn’t have made a hierarchy,” he said, more to himself than anything. “Some people…some _angels_ just take the power and run with it.”

“Gabriel,” Aziraphale said.

“I knew he would,” Crowley replied. “He was always trying to make himself more important, talking to those underlings of his.” A mirthless smile crossed his face. “Did you see yourself correcting him?” Aziraphale nodded. “He hated that. Never bothered listening too hard to what She was saying, just took his first interpretation and ran with it. You were far more into listening and talking to Her, trying to understand.”

“We were both there,” Aziraphale said. “Talking to Her.”

“I was there because you were there,” Crowley corrected.

“And then She wanted to make orders of angels,” Aziraphale remembered.

“And you wanted to be a Guardian,” Crowley said. His fingers squeezed as he said, “I knew they would be the lowest, and I knew Gabriel would make Heaven a nightmare if we were Guardians.” His voice was shaking at the memory. “I had to convince you. I asked God about it and She was very clear that everybody’s skills would be utilised when they were cast.”

“And that’s how you figured out where Gabriel would be cast?” Aziraphale asked.

“I didn’t _know_,” Crowley said, his voice anguished. “It was a calculated guess. From how they were behaving, I could figure that Archangels would be the closest match. I listened when God described what each band of angels would do, and I came up with a plan for us to behave like Principalities. You were already doing it anyway, teaching Gabriel about the true Word of God.”

“But…why?” Aziraphale asked. He still didn’t understand, and Crowley was still visibly upset about something that happened thousands and thousands of years ago.

“To keep you safe,” he whispered finally. “If you were higher than Gabriel, he could still be his unpleasant self, but he wouldn’t have any power. He’d have to at least pretend to follow God’s hierarchy. And he did. Being cast so low was a dent to his pride, I think, and for a long time he was…quiet.”

Aziraphale stared, his mind whirring. There must be something else. Something that precipitated what happened after. “What happened?”

Crowley frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Something must have happened,” Aziraphale said. “You were banished, I don’t remember any of this, and Gabriel has never been pleasant in my experience.”

Crowley swallowed. “He convinced God I’d manipulated Her,” he said. “That my questions were about me undermining the Ineffable Plan, which was ridiculous because how could I undermine it when I didn’t understand it?”

“And this was after the War?” Aziraphale checked.

“Yes,” Crowley said. “He was clever, I’ll give him that – waited until most of the furore had died down, then accused me of trying to start it up again. She was so annoyed She barely listened to me.” Crowley swallowed hard. “Gabriel accused us both. Wanted us both cast out. I…bargained with Her. Told her I’d leave forever if you could stay.”

“What?” Aziraphale whispered.

“I asked Her to wipe me from your memory. Told Her it was my idea, that if you didn’t remember me you couldn’t go looking for me, or continue what I’d been doing or whatever.” He shrugged, an entirely unconvincing effort at nonchalance. “She agreed. Gabriel was pretty pleased, smug git.”

“And that’s…that’s why I don’t remember you?” Aziraphale asked. “Why I don’t remember any of it? And why…Gabriel really doesn’t like me, does he?”

“No,” Crowley said. “He really doesn’t.”

“And is that why She didn’t want me coming down here?” Aziraphale asked suddenly. “Did She think we might end up finding each other?”

“Dunno,” Crowley said. “I thought She would have sent me downstairs, really. It was a shock when I found myself in that garden, I’ll tell you.”

Aziraphale blinked. “I…I don’t know what to say,” he said slowly. He looked at Crowley. “You really did that for me?”

“I did,” Crowley said.

“Why?” Aziraphale asked.

“We’re angels,” Crowley said. “Well, we were then. We’re meant to love everything, right?” He shrugged again. “I wanted you to be safe.”

“_Pachm_,” Aziraphale murmured.

“What?” Crowley asked.

“Nothing,” Aziraphale said. He frowned. “I don’t know…I felt a lot of emotions. As we went through your memories. It was disconcerting.”

Crowley nodded.

“You loved me deeply,” Aziraphale said quietly.

“I did,” Crowley said simply. He seemed to be relieved to be talking about it, Aziraphale thought. He’s waited so many years to have this conversation.

“Humans have such limited language,” Aziraphale said, frowning. “I’ve been trying to find the right word all day. To describe the kind of love.”

“The kind of love?” Crowley repeated.

“Yes,” Aziraphale said. “There are so many languages, and so many nuanced words to describe how someone loves someone else.”

Crowley blinked at him. “Does it…matter?” he asked delicately.

“What?” Aziraphale asked. “Of course it matters!”

“I would have thought the amount of love would have been more important,” Crowley said. His attitude had gone again, and this was the stripped back former angel; no smart comments, no air of casual dismissal.

“But you were an angel,” Aziraphale said. “You loved everything.”

“Not equally,” Crowley pointed out. “And not…not forever.” He sat forward. “I have been waiting to see you again since before the Beginning,” he said, his voice shaking. “I have loved you since then. Even as a human. Even when I couldn’t feel Heaven anymore and I wondered if love still existed. Even when you didn’t recognise me.”

Aziraphale stared at him, astonished.

“Does it matter what it might be labelled?” Crowley asked. “If it’s romantic, or platonic, or dutiful?”

The question hung between them, Crowley’s eyes locked on Aziraphale’s face as he considered the question. His mind swirled with emotions – Crowley’s sadness when Aziraphale hadn’t recognised him, his joy at the sight of Aziraphale’s laughing face; how it had felt to bathe Crowley in love, how anxious he’d been about this meeting. The way Gabriel treated him fell into place – it made sense, now the bewildering lack of understanding resolved with Crowley’s help.

And he’d really sacrificed that for Aziraphale? From his perspective they hadn’t known each other long, but Crowley hadn’t lied as far as he could tell. How would he even go about faking those memories? And why would he offer to share them if they were fake? Too much made more sense if Crowley was truthful than if he was deceiving Aziraphale for some unknown benefit.

“No,” Aziraphale said finally. He felt a weight drop from his shoulders at the realisation. “No, it doesn’t matter.”

Crowley smiled at him, tears in his eyes. “I missed you,” he said, voice breaking on the final word.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said. “For…what you did.”

Crowley nodded. “So,” he said. “What…what now?”

“Well,” Aziraphale said, human heart pounding again, “Perhaps you would consider gallivanting across the globe for a while. With me.”

“Really,” Crowley whispered.

“Maybe,” Aziraphale said. “We don’t have to. But I think,” he smiled, hoping it was reassuring, “we’re probably going to be spending a lot of time together. So we might be needing something to do.”

Crowley nodded. “I don’t know how much longer I can stay here,” he said. “Been here ten years already. Need to move on soon, or there’ll be questions.”

Talk of moving on reminded Aziraphale of something Crowley had said earlier.

“Might I ask,” Aziraphale said suddenly, “Why you thought I might leave?”

“Ah,” Crowley said. “I wasn’t sure how you would…if you would…” he took a deep breath. “I’ve probably been around humans too long. English speaking male humans in particular, they don’t really like hearing that another male-presenting human loves them.”

“Why on Earth not?” Aziraphale asked in astonishment.

“I dunno, it started something to do with interpreting the Bible,” Crowley said. “Some demon got into the scribe’s ear, made him add something about males only mating with females.” He shrugged. “I don’t know why they’re so hung up on it, really. As though sexual love is the only kind there is.”

Aziraphale nodded. He bit his lip as something else occurred to him. “Not to change the subject too abruptly,” he said, “but do you have any idea what,” he looked up significantly,” _they_ might have to say about this?”

“About what?” Crowley said.

“Us,” Aziraphale said. “I believe Gabriel said he thought we were ‘shacked up together’. He wasn’t too pleased.”

“He was also wrong,” Crowley replied. “And there haven’t been any…repercussions so far, have there?”

“No,” Aziraphale conceded. He looked down. “You’re still holding my hand, you know.”

“Yes,” Crowley said. “Is that…alright?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale replied. He frowned. “It’s strange. I have memories of your memories, but not of the stuff in between. Did we used to hold hands?”

“Everyone did,” Crowley replied. “We were a tactile host back then. Is that not something that happens, now?”

“No,” Aziraphale said consideringly. “Everyone seems quite conscious of their place, and with bullies like Gabriel going around, everyone keeps to themselves a lot.” He sighed. “It doesn’t sound like a place full of love when you put it like that, does it?”

“No,” Crowley replied. “It doesn’t.”

They sat in silence for a few moments before Aziraphale said suddenly, “You know Anathema can see your aura?”

“Yes,” Crowley replied.

“She noticed it wasn’t human,” Aziraphale said.

“I know,” Crowley shrugged. “She’s a very perceptive human. Actually looks at the world around her.”

“I told her everything,” Aziraphale sighed.

Crowley thought about that for a moment. “I’d say upstairs would have more of a problem with that than with this.” He lifted their joint hands.

“Maybe,” Aziraphale replied. “I suppose we’ll just have to see what happens.”

“Yes,” Crowley said. His fingers tightened around Aziraphale’s once more. “I’d better turn in. I didn’t sleep well last night.” He winced. “This human body has a lot of needs.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Would you…I could stay,” he offered, not entirely sure what it was he was offering. “If you wanted the company.”

Crowley looked at him. “I would,” he said quietly. He stood up, leaving Aziraphale for a few moments. When he reappeared he was dressed in sleeping clothes (pyjamas, Aziraphale reminded himself). “I sleep in there,” he said, pointing back through the doorway.

“Wait,” Aziraphale said. He stood up, feeling his heart thumping again. “I believe the saying is, ‘in for a penny…’”

“‘…in for a pound’,” Crowley finished as Aziraphale’s arms came up to hug him. They stood in the middle of the room for a long while, bodies pressed together. Despite their human forms, Aziraphale felt no rush of what he might have considered a sexual impulse; indeed, the love he felt for Crowley was a deeper connection than he understood sexual impulses to be. On the other hand, he was very much enjoying being so close. Perhaps it was something they would have to figure out for themselves. The label didn’t matter, as long as they were both happy.

With a deep breath, Aziraphale let go, his arm loosening so his hand could slide down Crowley’s arm and entwine their fingers. He smiled. “Sleep, then?”

“Yes,” Crowley replied quietly.

And they did.


End file.
